we’re sharing
the joy of cooking
one night at a time
one bite at a time
celebrating
family ties
in magical aprons
In the Kitchen in the Great Smoky Mountains
Open Write Day 1 of 3 September 2025 with Kelsey Bigelow
Today’s host of the first day of September’s Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is Kelsey Bigelow, who works as a mental health poet and renowned author of books, slam poetry events, and writing workshops in Iowa. You can read all about Kelsey and visit today’s prompt and poems here, as she inspires us to think about what lives on the “good side of memories.” Today’s writing is rooted in stream of consciousness writing that can live on in that form or be the start of one that takes root for another.
It’s All in the Kneading and Knowing
the happiest thing
I’ve ever tasted was that moment
when in my grief
soul-gutting tears in a
big-enough-for-all
walls of a VRBO
reverberating sniffles
and crumpled Kleenex
and happy laughs of
oblivious grandchildren playing
with their newest cousin
trying to teach him
to walk at six months
and believing he could
the strains of Amazing Grace
sung to a guitar
by the rest of us trying
to sing with the best of us
believing we could
as we all sat piled high
on the curved couch
pajama-clad, remembering
*******. ********
then one broke the silence
asking for a happier moment
in the autumn – another together
time when smiles returned
then another added
yeah, when
any of us can
make a word from tiles in
turntable Scrabble
and another added
yeah, and only if Mom
brings the pumpkin bread
and right then
in those delicate moments
I knew three things:
that I had taken the reins
as the newest family elder and
that tradition of togetherness
lives on in food tried first
as a flopped recipe
when they’re toddlers, then tested
again and again to perfection
by the time they’re teenagers
and can’t think of gatherings
without it and
that families too
are like that ~
learning to walk
learning to sing
learning to bake
learning to live on
believing
through all the tears and laughter
that together
we can
March 30: 8:28-8:59 Seed Sprouts
Sprout Smile Nonet
it’s been a long time since I’ve made them
I was a child in the kitchen
making sprouts with my mother
I got a kit today
two drain lids plus seeds
with my own jar
and I felt
my mom
smile
Way back in the 1970s, my mother taught me how to make alfalfa sprouts. It was fun for a kid to do. You get the starter seeds and rinse them, then soak them overnight. Each day for a week, you rinse and drain. After a week, you have enough sprouts to last you a week on sandwiches and salads, and it’s more economical than buying them in the store. Much more fun than when we hung a flat white bean on a wet paper towel in a Ziploc bag on the classroom window and watched it sprout and then took it home and threw it away. These sprouts we actually ate.
In my slice time this evening, after a day of visiting another camper dealership and then stopping for dinner and a shared banana split to celebrate our anniversary on the way home, I opened the sprout kit that I’d ordered and began the process of making the sprouts.
They’ll be amazing on a tomato sandwich with salt, pepper, and mayonnaise – – I’m already eyeing one of my green tomatoes on the back porch, wondering if just perhaps it will be the one to ripen in time to meet the growing sprouts in a springtime taste explosion of a sandwich on sourdough bread.
My mother would be so proud! I can feel her smiling down, knowing I’m thinking of those days in our avocado-colored kitchen of the 1970s at the corner sink, shaking out the sprout seeds together, all amazed and dazzled at their growth.
Tuesday Travels: From Woodstock, Vermont to West Chesterfield, New Hampshire
On Monday, I mailed a box of books home to myself because I’d broken my own rules of acquiring anything on this trip that would exceed my carry-on and personal bag capacities for flying back home to Georgia on Friday. No sooner had I mailed the box of 17 books to myself back home, I saw the sign for the Yankee Bookstore in downtown Woodstock and hollered over the sidewalk to let my husband know where he could find me. He was standing by the car, fiddling in his pockets to find change to extend the parking meter from our time in The Vermont Flannel Company so we could take a peaceful walk along the streets to see the sights.
But bookstores come first, especially the iconic ones in states that have their own brochure mapping out a bookstore tour. The Yankee Bookstore is on Vermont’s bookstore tour, and there it was – – with its bright awning and its lights. Calling my name, summoning me to enter the ranks of readers inside its warmth. I developed a serious case of squirrel when I got in and found so many amazements – – the postcards, for starters.
All memory of excessive luggage flew straight out the window as I got lost in the possibilities for next books. I thought of my Kindle in my backpack, its waning charge whispering to me, reminding me that it can carry 17 books and so many more. And as much as I love it for travel, it’s not the same as the turned-page book experience.
I kept wandering, snapped a few pictures of titles while practicing stewardship in keeping things simple, and took a Yankee Book Company flyer with a goal of ordering a hard copy from them to be sent to my home. I want to support indie bookstores, and in the name of reading and freedom to read what we choose, I will.
Two conversations in the bookstore later, we’d learned that the place to eat was The Woodstock Inn. Richardson’s Tavern was booked solid, but there was one more restaurant, and so we hurried over to check it out.
Something my husband and I have come to enjoy in traveling is the shared meal. At home, we don’t order all the courses, ever. We go straight for the main course. Here as we travel, though, we have come to learn that we can experience the culture of local food if we share an appetizer, share a salad, share a soup, share a main course, and share dessert. If we order a local beer, we share that, too. By doing this, believe it or not, we save money and don’t feel as full. We find that we don’t waste food, either. It’s not only enough food, but it’s a richer experience.
By some miracle, we snagged a 5:30 table at The Red Rooster and then waited by the room-sized fireplace for them to text us that our table was ready.
Oh, this place! The simple decoration and spaciousness, with its cream-colored tablecloths and warm, glowing candles warmed me from the inside from all that Vermont cold outside.
Dinner was nothing short of delicious, but the food had striking presentation as well. My favorite was the combination of Parker’s Rolls and the cheese sampler that featured local cheeses made right down the road in several directions.
After waking up at 506 On the River Inn, I stepped outside at 4:38 a.m. to see whether snow had fallen as predicted, and I saw a frosting of it on the picnic table below. My weather app tells me there is an 85% chance of it today. By the time I got up and showered at 7:00, it was down to a snizzle (which I think is a mix of snow and drizzle). It’s somewhere in between, and even though I’d love to see snow while we’re here, I’m more concerned about the roads. I don’t want to end up like in a real Hallmark movie getting snowed in. It’s fine to watch it happen to others, and I’d love sharing more time away with my husband, but the truth is that I’d miss my dogs too much back home. They’re getting groomings today, so they’ll be over their madness and happy to see us by the time we arrive to pick them up Friday afternoon.
Breakfast: I won’t share my maple syrup pancakes. That’s just not an option. I’m down for the dinner sharing, and maybe even lunch. But breakfast with pure Vermont maple syrup cooked to its required temperature just out the back door from here? No way.
I couldn’t even wait. I was rude and selfish and had a sampler plate before my husband arrived at the breakfast table. This is where I must confess: travel is like Christmas to me. I can’t wait, and sometimes the excitement kicks into high gear and I forget my manners and rip into the moment without abandon. I met Gloria, the 80ish year old cook, who stepped out of the kitchen and proudly told me all about the apple cinnamon pancakes she’d made fresh, just off the griddle, and she also told me about the maple cream. I’d never seen maple cream, so I tried pancakes with both (1 with maple cream, two with butter and syrup). And now I want the t-shirt that says I’ve Eaten Gloria’s Fresh-Off-the-Griddle Apple Cinnamon Pancakes with Pure Vermont Maple Syrup and Butter in Woodstock, Vermont! I want everyone in the world to know there is an experience like this to be lived.
Friends, they’re off the chain. I owed my husband a huge apology by the time he got to the table and I’d practically finished. However, I did offer him a nugget of guidance: the maple cream is for the people like me with an insatiable sweet tooth. The syrup is for folks like him who like things not quite as sweet. So in that way, it’s better I went first to scope this all out. I see it as a huge favor, for which he owes me no thanks. I’m happy to help.
And now, after breakfast , we step out into the day, heading from Woodstock, Vermont one hour south to West Chesterfield, New Hampshire for the next leg of the trip.
Snow on the weather app, snow plows everywhere, salt trucks brining streets and hotel staff scattering salt on the sidewalks. But no snow to be seen. I couldn’t understand the science of it, either. It ranged between 32 and 34 degrees for a few hours, but all we ever saw was rain. How?
And just like Yoda, we were tired, weary from the road and ready to curl up and fall fast asleep. Travel is fun, but travel is exhausting, too. We are ready for some down time, and we hope to find it in the wingback chairs and post bed beneath this beam, the only existing beam from the original barn that was turned into the Inn. I have a friend who stayed here and recommended this quaint, quiet room with its large windows overlooking the trees and the curve of the highway right by the state line between Vermont and New Hampshire along the Connecticut River.
Wednesday morning: Later today, we travel from West Chesterfield to Plymouth Harbor, where we will wear the last of our semi-clean clothes to Thanksgiving Dinner and eat where the Pilgrims and Native Americans started this whole thing.
Open Write June Day 2 with Margaret Simon – Duplex Poems
Margaret Simon of New Iberia, Louisiana is our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for Day 2 of the June Open Write. You can read her full prompt here. Margaret inspires us to write Duplex poems in the style of Jericho Brown, using this process:
A duplex poem is 14 lines, 7 couplets, 9-11 syllables per line.
The second line from each stanza repeats as a first line for the next stanza.
The first line is echoed back in the last line.
My poem is inspired by a daughter’s new puppy, a dappled Dachshund named Jackson (after Jackson Pollock, for his spots). I used the Duplex form and thought of one of his famous paintings entitled Convergence and how his abstract art reminds me of things – – like these catastrophic chicken tacos that have no business being served in a shell that is only going to break and create food art under the first bite. Photo of Jackson below.
Catastrophic Chicken Tacos
catastrophic chicken tacos happen
always at lunch on taco Tuesdays
always at lunch on taco Tuesdays
shells break, insides spill onto the plate
shells break, insides spill on to the plate
revealing shredded lettuce, tomatoes, chicken
revealing shredded lettuce, tomatoes, chicken
all my cheese splatters broken taco art
all my cheese splatters broken taco art
like a Jackson Pollock painting: Convergence
like a Jackson Pollock painting: Convergence
a speckled canvas of confetti’ed food
a speckled canvas of confetti’ed food
catastrophic chicken tacos happen
Day 21 of #VerseLove with Stacey Joy: Mama’s Kitchen Poems
Stacey Joy is our host today for the 21st day of #VerseLove. You can read her full prompt here. She inspires us to write Mama’s Kitchen Poems.
Kitchens are oftentimes the heartbeat of a home. They are gathering places and hold memories like no other room in a house. Stacey mentions a recent podcast episode featuring legendary author Judy Blume, finding herself mesmerized by Blume’s memories and stories of her mother’s kitchen. If you are interested in listening to that episode, here is the link.
Next, Stacey shares the process: Let’s share our memories from our mothers’ kitchens, our own kitchens, or any kitchen that holds memories for you.
A Lock of Hair
there, hidden in the cakes and pies section
of Mom’s Gold Medal recipe box
with all the family secrets
an unsealed blue envelope
holds tender gold tendrils
~ cherished childhood hair ~
ethereal
long blond strands
of me
steeped
in
love, one
remaining
wisp of a child
blended, kneaded, shaped,
her own recipe for
disaster ~ aproned kitchen
ancestors gather still to check
on this bun baked through all their ovens:
did she fall? did she rise? did she turn out?
The Power of Connection in a Slice of Life Neighborhood- Slice of Life Challenge Day 22, Stafford Challenge Day 66
A week ago, Lainie Levin posted an announcement that I wish could be reposted every day. Below, she states that engaging with others is the single most powerful thing that builds community during this challenge.
I emailed her immediately to ask if I could repost this announcement. She readily agreed.
Which brings me to a connection that stopped me in my tracks. I was having a conversation with the Poetry Fox as we were working out the details of his visit to Georgia from North Carolina. I asked him to describe what his events look like, and he told me that he sits at his typewriter and writes on-demand poetry for people who give him a word. He said, “And really, it’s not even about the poem. It’s about the connections I make and the people I get to meet. Those moments of connecting with someone are what it’s all about.”
I’ve thought about this again and again as I have returned to the conversation and the blog announcement and reflected on the power of connection. This community would be nothing without it. I realize that when I wake up during March and get to open the blogging windows and drink my coffee with an entire community and we’re all talking to each other about the slices of our lives and what is happening, there is power in these moments. We may all be tired and worn thin some days, but I know things about you – the people in my community – and I know many of your family members and how you spend time.
I know Paul likes to cook and actually likes Brussels sprouts (I thought I was the only one), Glenda likes to travel and has a voracious appetite for adventure (and will be having quite an adventure today – – I won’t spoil her surprise, but be on the lookout for something uniquely and colorfully …..uplifting)! Denise hikes in the desert and has a stargazer window in her house, Fran watches birds and is teaching her little granddaughters to love them too, Maureen also has two young granddaughters who love music and art and the outdoors, Peter is beginning to grieve the loss of a loved one and many of us are keeping his family close in our thoughts, Barb loves poetry slams and art exhibits and spending time outdoors, Sally checks in on her mom and has a granddaughter with new shoes, Margaret lives on the bayou and has the cutest ducks that jump into the water on jump day, and Joanne loves flowers and gardening. And I’m getting to know each of you, too!
Even though we all live in different places across the nation and beyond, I imagine a high rise brick apartment building where we’re all sitting in an open window chatting, waving, greeting each other at the start of the day, and smiling, rather like we might look from windows on the cover of the New Yorker if someone illustrated all of us in one drawing. We’d see floral window boxes for the green thumbs, cats and dogs with the animal lovers, and food cooking on the stoves of the culinary artists. We’d see children playing with grandmothers and, in a Paul Fleishman Seedfolks-ish kind of way, we’d all be connecting, contributing in beautiful ways to the community vegetable garden and sharing what we have to share, helping as we can, reaching out as we have needs that others can help meet.
Connection. Conversation. Sharing. Caring, Responding in kindness. Giving. Living.
Because that’s what community and connection are all about, and it’s also what writing is about – – reaching the next person. Not the word choice, not the capitalization of proper nouns, and not the run-on sentences (which, like Brussels sprouts, I love, by the way).
Thank you for these marathon days in March where we build our own neighborhood, and the Tuesdays throughout the year where we keep in touch! And to the owners of the Slice of Life apartment building for letting us move in for a month, rent-free, a huge debt of gratitude is owed for all of your hard work in keeping the lights on and the water running.
You each make a difference!
Slice of Life Challenge
Slice of Life Challenge
community connections:
open your windows!
pour a cup of tea
share family recipes
show trip photographs
compare hobby notes
reveal hopes and dreams
share fears and shed tears
open your windows!
connect with fellow writers
plant seeds. water them.
Family Yule Log – Part 2 of 3
Part 2
At 8:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve, my daughter and I began our first-ever Yule Log baking adventure in our pajamas in a rural countryside VRBO kitchen that was unfamiliar to us. When our Kentucky family got together to plan the Christmas dinner, everyone decided to divide the menu and each prepare a dish. Ever so daringly and boldly, she volunteered us to bring a Yule Log. She’d found an ambitious recipe online and had shopped for all the ingredients. She measured them into bags and brought them to the rental house.
By the time we arrived back from the only open store, a Dollar General on the backside of nowhere, we were well into the Christmas Eve hours when children are tucked into bed and elves begin working their magic. And we needed more than magic. We needed divine intervention. Lots and lots of prayer – my One Little Word for 2023. 
The recipe looked intimidating. We watched the video of the woman making it to try to ease my apprehension. So much had to go right, and I was fearful of a flop.
To ante up the challenge, we were using dishes that weren’t ours, cooking in a gas oven we didn’t know. The cardinal rule in baking is to “know thine oven,” and this beast was a complete and total stranger from another realm. 
Somehow, though, after all the beating of the egg whites with sugar to form stiff peaks and folding in that mixture with the flour and egg yolk and cocoa, she pulled a perfectly baked chocolate sponge cake from the oven, ready to be inverted onto parchment paper and rolled in a thin white towel and placed in the coolest part of the room to set before spreading the heavy whipped cream on it and re-rolling it. My daughter was unflappable throughout the whole process, but my nerves were on edge the entire time. I was trying not to show it. 
We watched the recipe video again when it came time to unroll the cake and spread the layer of whipped cream on the inside. 
The entire process involved phases of blending, folding, baking, setting, cooling, spreading, rolling, unrolling, and waiting. It also involved a lot of laughing to keep the nerves under control. It felt a lot like walking across a landmine with someone who didn’t know we were on a battlefield with so many potential pitfalls. 
As every step turned out, my daughter smiled through the entire process. She was baking a miracle as I stood amazed. Turns out, she hadn’t read the entire recipe before she started. Each small step was not overwhelming to her. I, on the other hand, saw every mile of the long journey and knew how risky it could be.
It came time for the rolled log to be iced, and her artistic flair came out in full force. 
She evened out the chocolate buttercream frosting into consistent thickness and began her artistic presentation using a fork to make bark lines, even making an elliptical shape to make it look more knotty and authentic, like an owl might pop its head out at any moment and ask us whoooo we were. She softened a Hershey bar and began the tedious process of shaving thin chocolate curls with a sharpened knife. And she placed peppermints in a Ziploc bag and crushed them to look like shimmering snow to top the Yule Log. 
And when her masterpiece was finished, she stood back and admired it with pride. 
“Look what we did, Ma! Thanks for making it with me. Without you, I probably would have given up.” 
I hugged her close, thinking, No, dear daughter. This is all your creation, not mine. I never would have even attempted it. You are far more courageous than I will ever be.
She inverted a mixing bowl to cover it like a cake lid and placed it in the refrigerator to chill overnight. I admired her accomplishment and thought of that Yule Log as a metaphor for all the ways we need each other. 
And we hugged goodnight, looking forward to sharing it with family on Christmas Day.
Reflections on a Slice of Pumpkin Bread with Coffee
“Today, make discovering those joyful simplicities that bring you personal comfort and a sense of well-being one of your highest priorities.” – Sarah Ban Breathnach, Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy
At my bridal shower in 1985 given by the ladies of First Baptist Church of St. Simons Island, Georgia, I received a lot of cookbooks and tried-and-true recipe cards. The ladies in that church who had practically helped raise me were tremendous cooks, and I was over-the-moon thrilled to have a coveted collection of the recipes that gave me an inkling of hope of being like them in the kitchen.
Over the years, from the beginning of my young married life through raising children and even through divorce and remarriage, one recipe was an instant hit and remains a family favorite through it all. I make it only during the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays to keep it sacred and anticipated. When I visited one of our daughters who lives 6 hours away for Christmas 2022, she had already told many of her friends, “I hope my mom brings her pumpkin bread.” When she introduced me to them, I wasn’t surprised to hear that my pumpkin bread reputation had preceded me!
Times shared together when everyone has gathered during the carefree, unrushed holidays around a table or in small sitting areas with coffee and conversation, where candles flicker and the clinking of forks on tiny plates adds to the joy of togetherness against the backdrop of a football game on TV, where children play games and watch a parade, where family news is being shared and good books are being discussed and political views are not~ ~ ~ that’s pumpkin bread season. For anyone who pursues the Danish concept of hygge, pumpkin bread is at the top of the list. It works its comforting magic and hits the spot!
Today, I share the recipe for the pumpkin bread that has been our tradition for nearly 40 years. I’ll also add that it freezes well. Sometimes I split the loaf into two large loaves, but sometimes I make mini loaves so that my husband can take one to work for breakfast each day throughout the week. I fill pans about 2/3 full so that it gives room to rise, and I adjust my baking times for size. When there is one tiny bit of uncooked dough in the top of the rise, I remove it from the oven and allow it to finish cooking in its own heat during the cooling process. If freezing, I wrap in foil and place in a Ziploc bag once cooled.
Recipe for Pumpkin Bread II from the cookbook Frederica Fare:
Common Threads 